


Oh I Was Reckless, Once Was Breathless

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x02, F/M, First Time, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, first fic in literal years, last night on earth shenanigans, my babies are canon i'm still crying about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 13:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18692836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Gendry never really expected to see Arya again, much less expected how quickly things would change between them.But then, was it really all that quick?





	Oh I Was Reckless, Once Was Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in literally years, like 5-10 years, but my babies went canon and I'll never be over it, so I had to give it a try. Written all in on go at like 3 in the morning, not beta read, don't @ me if I fucked something up.

When he arrived at Winterfell and began work in the forge, Gendry didn’t even really expect to see Arya except in passing as she carried on being a Lady of a Great House. It was enough to know she was alive, and he made himself content with that.

He’ll admit to being a bit bowled over by Arya Stark upon seeing her again. Last he’d seen her she’d been a just a scrawny slip of a girl, and while she hadn’t actually got all that much bigger, her face and bearing was that of a woman grown. And to have her there in the forge, all high-handed and demanding and looking at him the way she was looking – well.

Gendry’s not actually stupid.

He’d known, back then, that she liked the look of him. But she was a child, so it was immaterial, and she was a lady besides, so he ignored it. And she was his truest friend, so it is perhaps not a surprise that it is an easy jump for his emotions to make upon meeting her again, the sort of useless affection he still held for a presumed-dead girl morphing into this white-hot consuming _thing_.

And it would probably still be best to ignore it.

But.

It’s the end of the world.

And he might be a low-born bastard, but he’s the low-born bastard of a king, and that might not be much, but it’s at least not nothing. He tells himself that he’d never dare to entertain such thoughts if the world were not ending, but then every time he sees her it’s like everything important inside of him aligns and pulls to her and it feels as inevitable as rain falling to the earth.

There’s no real need for him to scrub up and dress nicely and deliver her weapon to her personally. Tomorrow he’ll probably be dead, and so a few hours of cleanliness between the grime of the forge and the gore of the battlefield almost seems like a self-indulgent waste of time. Still, he knows on some level that he wants to please her eye, and it’s stupid, so stupid, but he does it anyway.

When Arya comes in close, bold as can be, and asks him to lay with her, to give her a new experience before they all die, he hesitates for only a moment trying to remember all the reasons why he should not indulge her, but then her (soft, sweet) mouth is on his and he can’t think at all. She is a force of nature, and he wants nothing more than to touch her and hold her and please her, if only for a little while.

Her manner of dress is still quite masculine and gives little suggestion of her form. Underneath, she is slim and small and womanly, with gently curved hips and rosy perfect tits and absolutely terrifying scars. He stares, hating whoever hurt her like that. He’s no maester, but wounds like those should likely have killed her; it must have been a close thing. He’s frozen, staring, until she commands him to take his pants off and he hastens to obey. She climbs on top of him and leans down for more kisses. Gendry is content to let her control this embrace, and Arya seems so self-assured he could almost believe she knows exactly what she’s doing, but then she’s touching his cock and lining up as if to put it in now and-

“Wait, wait, hold on.” He shies back as much as he can and she stops.

“What?” she asks, eyes wide and surprisingly vulnerable.

“If you just sit down on my cock, you’re not going to like it very much.” He runs a hand up her (beautiful, strong) thigh and around and lightly touches the folds of her cunt and- “you’re not quite ready yet.”

She looks slightly embarrassed but mostly irritated. “We don’t exactly have a great wealth of time, Gendry.” She snips.

“Maybe not, but what’s the point if we don’t even try to make it good?” he returns. “Here,” he rolls them over, “just give me a moment.”

He kisses down her (pale, lovely) neck, and brings the hand not currently occupied between her legs to one of her breasts, cupping, weighing, then pinching and rolling the rosy nipple. With the other hand, he slides a finger through her folds, spreading the gathering wetness forward. He finds the all-important nub at the front, and gently, gently rubs. Arya’s whole body jerks and she gasps and looks at him with wide eyes. He cannot help the smile pulling on his face, and kisses her mouth, her throat, her breasts, her navel. When he gets down between her legs, he looks up at her face, and she is looking back, almost shocked, breathing fast.

“Gendry-“

He puts his mouth on her (perfect, pink) cunt, and she drops her head back and rolls her hips up. The sharp taste of woman fills his mouth and he moans into her. He strokes a finger into her and she throws her arm over her face to muffle her cry. By the time he’s got two fingers in her, she’s soaking wet and panting and she punches his shoulder when he stops. He kisses back up to her waiting mouth, and rolls them back over. Arya looks dazed, and it pleases his most basic instincts to see such a look in her eyes.

“Alright, now.” Arya pushes herself up with one hand on his chest and grabs his cock with the other, stroking once, twice, then she is sinking down over him and gods, he knows he’s not exactly small, and she is so fucking tight, and he might actually die before the battle even starts, from sheer pleasure. She makes a punched-out noise as he bottoms out inside her, and there is absolutely no way he’s going to last long at this rate, touching her and tasting her and _feeling_ her. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Not really,” she answers, shaking her head.

He grasps her hips and grinds up into her. She lifts herself up and thrusts back down and grunts. She experiments with different motions before seeming to find the one she likes the best, and they are rocking together, biting off their cries of pleasure. Gendry runs a hand down between them, petting at her until she shakes and clamps down around him, and it is all he can do to lift her off and spill all over her thighs and belly.

He has a moment of unreality, looking up at Arya Stark of Winterfell, astride him and catching her breath. She lays down on him and they kiss, and kiss, and kiss. When she slides over to lay next to him, he gets up and finds his shirt and his cloak, and uses the shirt to wipe the mess off of her, and the cloak to cover them. They don’t speak, but he holds her until sleep claims him.

When the horns blow and he wakes, she is no longer in his arms, and they rush to dress.

There is much he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how, and he feels as though his every emotion is writ clear on his face for anyone to see. Arya’s face is harder to read in this moment, but before they run out the door, she leans up for one last kiss.

“Just… try not to die.” She whispers.

He snorts a laugh. “As my lady commands.”

**Author's Note:**

> How'd I go from not writing for years to jumping head-first into smut? 
> 
> Anyway, I may possibly have a follow-up in mind. We'll see. Do not rely on me, I'm the worst at follow-through.


End file.
